


Accept what the Gods send

by hobgoblin123



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-17 17:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4675376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobgoblin123/pseuds/hobgoblin123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to put out the fire in form of an alluring priest with gasoline, Gerald buys a toy for adults only. With unexpected results... Slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accept what the Gods send

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, and no profit whatsoever is intended. 
> 
> A/N 1: This story was originally published on fanfiction.net in September 2012, but has undergone some editing, mainly to correct most of the grammatical blunders of mine (at least I hope so, lol).
> 
> A/N 2: Please forgive me for using the 'Youthful Gerald takes a cold bath in order to suppress his urges' trope once again. In any case, in this fic he opts for an altogether different solution to his problem.

Gerald Hawthorne woke up all sweaty, panting and very, very frustrated. Dreaming of the damned priest once again had taken him further down the road to a nocturnal emission than he had ever been since the long gone days of his adolescence. Having a young, mortal body certainly had its advantages, but choosing this appealing appearance in the last desperate moments preceding his final transformation deep down in the bowels of 'his' keep, he hadn't allowed for the possibility that an annoying juvenile overkill of sex hormones might get the better of him in his hard-earned new life.

His error of judgement had already cost him dearly. Completely caught off guard by his first wet dreams in centuries, he had been reduced to taking refuge in his numarble tub on more occasions than he actually cared to count, immersing himself in cold water until his skin had wrinkled in a rather unbecoming fashion and his shrunk genitals had ceased screaming for satisfaction. Tonight didn't seem to be an exception of what had almost become the rule, and the adept heaved a sigh of exasperation.

Why on Earth and Erna did Vryce always manage to shatter his stringent self-control, even in his absence? Sometimes he couldn't help but wondering whether the priest had put a kind of spell upon him. As unlikely as it may seem because of the man's tiring morals, let alone the inaccessibility of the fae unless the Worker was willing to pay the ultimate price, it wasn't altogether impossible. Stranger things had happened, such as the Hunter's alliance with a mere mortal intent on killing him, their unexpected friendship and his consequent redemption.

A shudder of lust passed through his body, and to his horror he realized that he was still rocking his pelvis against one of his silk pillows that had somehow found its way between his legs. No wonder he hadn't calmed down yet.

Instead of heading for the bathroom, Gerald closed his eyes in resignation and wrapped his legs a bit tighter around the pillow while his hips kept moving in a slow but steady rhythm. He would end this at any second now, he promised himself, but the ripples of arousal spreading through his abdomen felt too good to be true. Unbidden images of Vryce's naked, muscular body floated through his mind, washing off the dust of the road from his tanned skin in a clear mountain stream, and he had to fight down a heated moan. His infatuation with the damned priest came much too close to an obsession for his taste, a pitiful aberration he had no intention of tolerating.

But there was no denying that he wanted Vryce, lusted after him with a primeval hunger that during all the long centuries of his existence had only been equalled by his hellish cravings for blood and fear, if at all. That desire he had transformed into the ritual hunt which left him in absolute control. Well, most of the times, anyway. His brows knitted together in a frown, Gerald remembered his insatiable hunger in the wake of their Novatlantis crossing, starving throughout the long months at sea albeit his mortal companion had willingly fed him his blood and his nightmares.

Now he was hungering for the more earthly pleasures of the flesh, and once again the priest was the one and only acceptable source of sustenance. He thrust harder into the silk which conveniently formed a slick sheath for him, replaced the cushion with a calloused hand in his imagination, but somehow the stimulation wasn't sufficient. Or, to be precise, he wanted something different.

The adept stopped his pleasant activities, got up and made for the kitchen. Although rarely used except for brewing a cup of tee, it was fully equipped, and he knew very well that the food supplies included a flask of not almond oil, just what he needed to utilize the weird little toy he'd bought on a whim and kept hidden in his night stand.

Coming across the small but well-assorted sex shop catering exclusively for a male/male clientèle completely by chance during one of his excursions through Jaggonath, he had stepped inside, driven by his insatiable curiosity. The visit had been an enlightening experience, to say the least. Sexual matters had been relatively down-to-earth in his time and debauchery, although not unheard of among the Ernan elite, had been officially frowned upon.

For a child of the Revival period, the collection of pornographic magazines and sex toys openly displayed on the shelves had been rather unsettling, and he had stared at the dildos available in every conceivable sizes and variations in utter awe, his mouth slightly agape. He wouldn't exactly call himself a novice concerning those matters, but the mere thought of accommodating that novebony monster the size of a horse penis inside a human body was ridiculous.

Forcing his eyes away from the offending object, his gaze had locked on a skin-tight suit made from black leather, sporting an obscene cut-out at a strategically important location. His overheated imagination had instantly provided him with a vivid picture of the warrior knight wearing the very damnable outfit, and he had felt his pants getting a bit tighter. Livid with himself and his treacherous body, he had swallowed and tried to force the blood rushing southwards back to more appropriate areas by the sheer force of his will, but had failed miserably.

Wrapping himself into the last vestiges of his self control, he had tried to get a grip on himself. Their paths of life had separated long ago, and yearning for things he couldn't have was pointless and would get him nowhere. He owed Vryce a new beginning and besides, he had no intention whatsoever of jeopardizing his existence by reuniting with his former companion, let alone getting adventurous out of sheer sexual frustration. That's where the toy had entered the scene. Intrigued by the shop assistant's ravings, he had relented to his jarring urges and bought the little beast, but had stored it away, preferably to be forgotten until the cows came home. Unfortunately, the time to open the metaphorical stable seemed to be overdue now despite his misgivings.

Gerald cringed at the weak pun. The hormonal overkill was evidently addling his brain, an all too human weakness which had to be eradicated instantly. To remedy the problem once and for all, he made himself comfortable on his bed again and drew up his legs. While he tried to push that ridiculous little piece of polished wood into his resisting body ever so carefully, he felt absolutely stupid, even humiliated, and lost the better part of his arousal.

Faintly remembering a very special night in an age long gone by, he forced himself to relax his muscles until the toy seemingly made it to the correct position at long last, causing an unsettling urge he had been warned of and had taken precaution of in the lavatory. Otherwise, nothing spectacular happened, and he started to harbour some very unkind thoughts concerning marketing strategies and overeager shop assistants which would have made the painted, effeminate excuse for a man blanch with dread if he had been able to read his mind from afar.

Getting a bit bored, his mind started to wander again, invariably ending up reminiscing about Damien's beautiful hazel eyes and his easy, good-natured smile. As the man would never know, it couldn't harm to picture him gazing down on him with burning desire written all over his regular features, his big but so very gentle fingers replacing... The adept shuddered involuntarily, and when his internal muscles contracted around the intruder, the breath caught in his throat.

 _Oh!_ The strange but rather delightful flutter in his rectum was a welcome surprise. Maybe the hormone fuelled purchase hadn't been such a waste, after all.

Gerald repeated the muscular contraction more purposefully this time, and was promptly rewarded with a stronger response. Several encores later, the waves of pleasure kept building, each more intensive than the last, and if he still had been able to think coherently, he might have contemplated awarding the bastard who had sold him the toy a medal for introducing him to this heavenly delight.

Losing himself in the sensations, he started to stroke himself, but stopped his manipulations soon afterwards, the additional stimulation presenting a disagreeable distraction from the feelings deep inside him which were slowly but surely driving him crazy.

Over the centuries, he had buried his memories under layers of corruption, but fisting his hands in the sheets, he tried to assess the reactions of his body. Accelerated heart rate, gasps for air, his muscles tensing: there couldn't be a doubt that he was rapidly approaching the first climax in nearly a thousand years, a somehow disconcerting and slightly frightening thought. It went without saying that everything was entirely Damien's fault. If he could only share this experience with the blunt, infuriating priest, feel him moving inside him and…

Boom! Some madman banged against the front door with a ferocity that very nearly made it fly off its hinges, and Gerald almost jumped out of his skin. What the hell…?

When the lusty fog clouding his brain had cleared a bit, a well known, rather enraged presence made itself known. Vryce! Dear God, as usual the man was a real pain in the neck, but under the given circumstances, he was inclined to accept what the gods had sent. Still dazed with unquenched desire, he carelessly tossed the toy onto his bedside table, wrapped himself into his silken bathrobe and headed for the stairs.

"Open the vulking door at once, you crazy son of a bitch, or I'm going to kick it in!"

The infuriated voice was accompanied by another bout of fierce banging, and Gerald sighed inwardly. The priest indeed, and doubtlessly in a foul mood. Maybe having erotic dreams with him as the main protagonist was preferable to the man's actual irascible presence, but letting his nemesis throw a tantrum on his door step didn't seem a very advisable course of action.

Slightly unnerved, he flung the door open with more force than would have been actually necessary, and in the very next moment Damien stormed over the threshold like a raging bull.

At last face to face with him, Hawthorne blinked, somewhat taken aback by the strange spectacle. Even in the best of times, not that they had had many of them, his former brother-in-arms had been lamentably prone to neglecting his appearance, but tonight he was outdoing himself. His greying hair standing out in all directions and his eyes bleary and red-rimmed, he had evidently just thrown a coat over his striped cotton pyjamas before he had left his dwellings. Gerald couldn't even begin to fathom what had gotten him into such a state or why he had popped up at his mansion in the deep of the night, let alone that the warrior knight wasn't supposed to know his whereabouts in the first place.

"You…" Damien rasped, clenching and unclenching his big hands in a rather intimidating manner. "Stop sending me those preposterous dreams, damn you! I know it's you, so don't bother denying it. What on Earth and Erna have I done to you to deserve this perfidious torture?"

Desperately trying to make sense of his vis-à-vis' tirade, the adept frowned. "Have you lost your wits, Vryce?" he asked not too kindly. "Why should I send you dreams? And how? It might help if you told me what kind of dreams are plaguing you. Are you having nightmares again?"

"No, nothing of the sort. Quite the contrary, to be honest. Very embarrassing stuff, with you and me engaging in, well, rather dubious activities."

Only a thousand years of exercising strict self-control prevented Hawthorne from dropping his jaw in utter astonishment, but some treacherous reaction must have been clearly visible on his features, because Damien descended on him like a hawk on a mouse. "You might not have sent me those dreams, but you know something. Out with it!"

"I'm not sure, but I presume that our problem is caused by a very unfortunate leakage from the channel. You know what I mean, don't you? The bond you had with … _him_."

In any other less embarrassing situation, Gerald would have paid a lot of money for seeing Vryce's dumbfounded face, but the colour rising in his own, he didn't quite feel like laughing. "You mean", the priest spluttered, "that _he_ is having those dreams as well? That they are transferred into my subconscious via the mind link? That the vulking bastard _wants_ me?"

By now, the adept's mouth was as arid as a dried-up river bed, and he settled for a faint nod. Damien stared at him as if he had never seen him before, doubtlessly registering the rosy glow on his cheeks, his dishevelled hair and the rather scant clothing, and his ruggedly handsome face split into a broad grin. In the next instant, he found himself scooped up like a sack of feathers and carried upstairs, towards his bedroom. "What's come over you, Vryce? Let me down at once!" he demanded. But it was just a token protest, and he was silenced with a kiss that left him breathless and more than ready.

Something inside Gerald snapped, and he surrendered to the priest's lips with a moan so throaty, so hungry that he was tempted to deny that the wanton sound had escaped his own mouth while his fingers were already busy with unlacing the belt of his robe. Precious red silk slid to the floor like a cascade of gore, in a heartbeat followed by striped pyjamas, the buttons flying all over the place, and then Vryce was over him, inside him, and he lost himself to the irresistible pulse spreading from his groin through his whole body, arching his back and driving his teeth into his lover's shoulder until he tasted blood.

When he was halfway back to his senses again, he was quite certain that he heard a low voice muttering "that surely was the worst case of sexual deprivation I've ever witnessed," but if there had been any inclinations to come up with a suitable acerbic retort to this insolent remark, it would have paled into insignificance beside the response of his body to Damien's continuing thrusts.

Gerald rolled around in a haze of desire and pulled the yielding priest with him. His long suppressed instincts kicking in with a vengeance, he twisted his hips until he found the most pleasurable angle. Merciful God, this felt so good! The release of the need pent up in a millennium of enforced celibacy had been mind-blowing, but the slower build up of sexual tension right now was almost unbearably exquisite, better than anything he recalled from his distant days of youth.

Each of his movements sent tremors of sheer bliss through him, and his eyes closed in ecstasy. For a last coherent moment, he couldn't help but wondering what the lascivious creature riding him with utter abandon looked like for Damien, his head tilted back so that a veritable waterfall of long hair as black as a winter night clung to a body covered with a glittering sheen of sweat and his lips parted to let pass the moans he couldn't - and didn't want to - stifle any longer.

Vryce's hands were cradling his buttocks, caressing but not forcing him on, allowing him to set the pace and seeing to his needs first although he could feel the man's desperate arousal with every fibre of his being.

Panting and his muscles as taut as a bowstring, Hawthorne sped up, slammed down harder against the muscular frame writhing beneath him with rising urgency, and it was Heaven on Erna. He was losing control now, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic, but it didn't matter anymore. Sobbing the priest's given name, he clung to him like a drowning man when the second blinding wave of pleasure overtook him, stopping the world and leaving him breathless and shaking all over.

Limply sprawled on Vryce's bulky torso, he could feel his chuckle before the actual sounds reached his ears. As he forced his heavy eyelids open and followed the direction of his lover's gaze, the breath hitched in his throat. On his bedside table, right atop his treasured, antique volume about the founding of the Church of Unification, the thrice damned toy seemed to mock him, both its rather inconspicuous appearance and its owner's feigned expression of nonchalance doubtlessly failing to deceive the priest. The waves of mirth radiating from him were almost palpable, and Hawthorne buried his hot face at his shoulder with a muffled groan.

 "Come to think of it, this funny little thing has really done a good job, Gerald, laying the groundwork for what must have been the quickest climax in living memory," Damien purred into his ear, his deep voice teasing and tender at the same time. "I hope it won't get me unemployed, though."

"Not a snowball's chance in hell!" The adept wrestled the toy from his grip, tossed it into the waste-paper basket and made himself comfortable on his breathing pillow again. Vryce was doubtlessly a man of manifold talents, and if he had his way, his former ally was in for a lifetime post.

A faint smile still on his face, Gerald dozed off, strong arms wrapped protectively around him and his lover's steady breaths the sweetest lullaby imaginable.


End file.
